


the carousel of time

by louciferish



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Dancing, Experimental Style, Gen, Seasonal Spirits and Guardians, YOI Litmag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-05-21 21:11:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14922917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/louciferish/pseuds/louciferish
Summary: An atmospheric piece featuring characters from Yuri on Ice as personifications of the seasons, engaging each other in a dance through time.





	the carousel of time

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally conceived to be my story for the upcoming second issue of [YOI Litmag](https://yoilitmag.tumblr.com/) with the theme of "Time". In the end, I scrapped it in favor of something else :) I hope everyone will consider supporting the zine to see what we've all created.

Yuuri delights in the wilt of the daffodils as they wrinkle and collapse on themselves. The cherry blossoms fall from their branches, and he rejoices, twirling and leaping beneath the shower of petals. The day lengthens and the sweat dots his brow, and he reaches again and again toward the sun, beckoning the trees to bud their leaves and the daylight to lengthen.

He spins en pointe, stretching his arms in a flowing arc as he sways. A hand catches his own, palm to palm, and his solo evolves to a pas de deaux. 

“You’re early,” he murmurs with a quirked smile, as his partner lifts him effortlessly into the air. “It’s barely April.” 

“Are you complaining?” Victor presses their foreheads together, his hand on Yuuri’s lower back as he guides him into a sweeping waltz. “Last year, I came in May, and you said I was late.”

“I’ll never complain about an early summer,” Yuuri says, laughing as Victor dips him. He snaps back up, pressed together chest to hip, and they step into a heated salsa. Victor’s grip slips lower. Yuuri’s skin is slicked with sweat as Victor tugs him closer. Their hips and thighs slot together, and Yuuri hides his heated face in the other man’s shoulder. They were made to fit together this way.

The daffodils and tulips have been overtaken by roses, and the apple blossoms have fallen to the leaves when Yuuri steps back. The air around them is hot and thick in Yuuri’s throat, choking him. Sweat has soaked his clothing and made his hair limp, but he glows. Victor reaches out, his pale, cool hand sliding through Yuuri’s hair, along the nape of his neck. Yuuri backs away again, shaking his head. 

“Soon,” he promises, and then he’s gone. 

Victor’s shoulders droop as he moves into a slow soft shoe, jazzy and light-footed, but with the posture of a man condemned. He shuffles and twirls as the trees around him flash out with bright green foliage and the creek beds swell with warm rain. 

A low blanket of grey clouds covers the hot sun, burgeoning and blackening overhead. Victor’s frenzied tap solo is accompanied by a deep growl from the heavens. His solo is spotlighted by bright flashes and whips of lightning.

The first cool breeze whips across his face, tangles his hair, and pushes back the storm.

The clouds lighten and Otabek steps out of the shadows. He’s clothed like a stormcloud himself in steel grey and black, and his arrival is heralded by the cool, earthy scent of his season. The winds swirls around them as they meet, nodding to one another in acknowledgement. 

Victor’s step slows, and they circle one another like two predators meeting at a territorial line. Their steps are synchronized, but parallel. Victor does not reach out, yet Otabek steps further and further away with each pass of the dance. 

“Your time is over,” Otabek says. The leaves form a golden dome above them as they dance, but Victor shakes his head in denial. A single oak leaf falls, whisping between them on the wind, its veins stained with ruddy brown. It lands beneath Victor’s toe and crunches when he steps. 

Reluctantly, he dips his head to Otabek and steps back, disappearing silently into the darkness.

Left to his own devices, Otabek’s dance evolves. His assets lie in physical strength, and he pushes his body to its limits, dropping to the ground and springing into the air. His movements are focused on twists, backflips, and sudden, jarring stops. Where the others are about mellifluousness, his dance is one of barriers and lines uncrossed.

He spins and drops to one knee, flinging out his arms in welcome just as the first bite of winter nips his cheek. He grins, the cold air bringing a surge of color to his face, and raises his hand.

“You’re being forward this year,” Yuri says, frosted fingertips trailing Otabek’s palm before enveloping it with his own, pulling the other man to his feet. 

“I’m forward?” Otabek asks, spinning Yuri out into the first steps of a tango. “You’re early.”

In each patch of earth their toes touch, the grass browns. The few remaining plants dry and curl, hiding away their vulnerable parts. The frost creeps along the edges of the crisp dead leaves where the dancers tread, plating them with silver and shine. 

“I’m not early at all,” Yuri says, smirking. “I think you lingered for me.” There are snowflakes caught in his eyelashes and embedded in the parchment-frail skin of his cheeks. He shakes out his hair as he snaps into position, chest to chest with his companion. 

“No,” Otabek’s mouth twitches, not quite a smile. “I hope it’s a long, harsh winter.”

Otabek leads the steps at first, and Yuri is lifted, tossed, caught. He lands on the tips of his toes as the clouds gather above them, low and grey and full of promise. They swap holds, and Yuri takes command. Their steps are quick, light, and then in a mirror of their meeting, he spins Otabek away from him.

Yuri pauses, holding position, arms still outstretched to catch his partner. Otabek does not return. 

Yuri lingers for just a fraction of a moment, then pops up onto his toes. He taps out a frantic jig, his arms held as if bound to his torso. The clouds unburden themselves. 

The snow falls first in flurries, then wide, wet crystals. The wind catches the flakes and twists them around the lone dancer. The snow is blinding, but Yuri’s eyes are closed. His long blonde hair freezes at the tips, and the drifts beneath his feet crispen to a solid plane of ice.

From the jig, he glides into unfamiliar steps. It’s not quite the familiar grace of ballet, yet not quite modern. The movement is jagged as broken glass or shattered icicles. He bends, willowy, then stops dead.

From beneath the blanket of cold-hardened snow, a single green shoot emerges.

“Not _yet_ ,” he spits, and stomps on the hopeful sprout. It curls in on itself, succumbing to the press of winter, and Yuri leaps, throwing his whole heart into the last, frenzied steps of his dance.

Behind him, someone clears their throat. 

The other Yuuri bows to him in formal invitation, extending an open palm. “May I have this dance?”

Yuri smirks and tosses his hair from his eyes in a cascade of snowflakes. “Only if you catch me,” he taunts, leaping away.

This dance is a chase. Yuri is the clear leader in the sprint, outpacing his successor at every straight away, but they circle, spin, and he can’t resist cutting closer and closer still. He’s teasingly just out of reach, and he revels in it.

Then Yuuri’s hand grazes his upper arm, warm and familiar, and fingers catch on the edge of Yuri’s sleeve. 

They both stop, their hands clasped.

At Yuuri’s feet, new bulbs push through the crust of the snow, and a puddle begins to gather. 

The two men fall into step, their movements ritualistic and formal as an ancient court dance. The chase continues, as each step propels Yuuri forward, forcing the frost to recede and with it his companion. 

With a final flurry of ice particles, the other man is gone, and Yuuri is left alone. He raises his arms. The daffodils and tulips unfold their brilliant yellows and reds. He pulls his heels together and smiles as the cherry trees tentatively bud. He prepares for his grand jete and thinks longingly of the pas de deaux.


End file.
